"A transit nexus is one of the more universal ones, from there you can get to other parts of this realm or other realms within the dream quickly. Though honestly there's around half a million realms at this point so it's kinda overwhelming if you don't know where you're going in advance. Still good to know where it is. Otherwise, there's Spas which are great for massages or otherwise relaxing, parks which are large outdoor areas crafted to evoke different emotions from relaxation to excitement, communal kitchens which tend to have premade food available and also the facilities to make food yourself, and also bath houses with both private and communal spaces for bathing."

"That sounds..." utterly useless, aside from the transit hub and maybe kitchens, "...pleasant." Massages? Really? Physical touch is a way of establishing dominance, not relaxing. (Isn't it?) 

"How does one pay for these services?" Indentured servitude, perhaps. Maybe Starlight aren't as nauseatingly saccharine as they pretend to be. But her heart's not in the thought. 

"You don't. Just about everything that's unpleasant is automated and otherwise people do things because they like doing them. Even things like the community kitchens somebody cooks a dish once and they can make as many copies of it as they want to."

"What do people...do?" 

"There are roughly four categories, generally people switch between categories over time. Some people spend the majority of their time on leisure, rarely people will spend their whole lives that way. The next group is roughly summarized as personal touch, those are things which could be automated but tend to be a bit more vibrant when they aren't, that includes stuff like massages, and food where automation can fill the gap if demand exceeds supply. The first really big group is creatives, they'll write books, draw art, design parks, make music, the list is pretty long... some competitions also fall into that category, the ones without practical applications. The final category is nearly as large and that's community service. It's a big tent that includes everything from providing therapy, to working as an archivist or researcher, to helping with one of the ongoing wars, to doing exploration and diplomacy work like me, and of course the competitions with practical applications."

"One of the...this is a wartime economy?"

"Wars like most things are heavily automated. The hard parts of war are mostly overall strategy and continued research and development neither of those are things majorly improved by masses of people. The influx of refugees is also an issue but when it gets too much we can generally put most of the former drones we haven't integrated yet into stasis."

"Former...drones?" 

"One of the groups we're at war with forcibly merges people they encounter into their hive mind. They treat individual members as effectively disposable and this has led several local polities to label their members drones. We do our best to separate people from the hive mind instead of killing them and the term we've ended up using is former drones. Given how thoroughly the Borg tend to conquer there usually aren't people or places for the former drones to go back to so we're more comfortable putting them into stasis than people with more social links."

"And stasis is expected to last...until the war ends?" 

"Hopefully not, but we'll see it all depends on how quickly the war goes and how fast we can expand our capacity to help them adjust to being outside the collective. We're also researching how to create smaller hive minds safely because many former drones are uncomfortable being fully individual. Honestly, our biggest worry is that according to our estimates their population is greater than ours so if they all end up joining they could significantly reshape our social structures. Fortunately, we expect that many groups will want to reclaim their previous planets and otherwise have little to do with us beyond some help getting started."

Once again, she seems to have underestimated the scope and capabilities of this organization. Perhaps they do stand a chance against the Brothers Grimm. 

That is what she wanted, isn't it? 

Salem shuts down that line of thinking.

She has a few more questions about the technical aspects of "the dream" and its various interfaces and options. Conspicuously absent is any line of questioning about where to meet other people. 

Siobhán is quite willing to answer Salem's questions, she does note the absence but that's okay these things take time.

Eventually: "Thank you. I think I'd like some time to myself, now." 

"Of course, let me know if you need anything." She walks out of the room and gently closes the door behind her.

Salem sits in silence for a time, absorbing the enormity of what has happened - or trying, at least. Somehow, the mental resources she once would have marshalled in this situation now elude her grasp. 

And why is that? Because my enemies crippled me, wishing to remove me from the equation, or so they thought. But they were unwilling to finish the deed. Such weakness will serve them ill in a war against the gods, but it can be exploited. Oh yes, it can be exploited. They believe themselves safe; best to let them, for now. I can be patient - oh so very patient - play along, justify their feeling of security. Use their weakness. Give them clues about the Grimm, ways to undo what has been done, to contain the intelligent ones. Keep them busy. Gain trust, and freedom to act. 

When the time is right - 

- then what? What power could she hope to gain, through Starlight, that they could not themselves mimic in time? 

But they lack the will to use it. They will not do what is necessary. 

Wouldn't they? They ended her. They only saved her mind because, frankly, without her powers she is just another vanquished mortal. 

A foolish judgment. One day, they shall regret it. 

But why? What purpose does it serve? 

My purpose. What else matters?

But that is not an answer anymore. 

Without me, humanity is lost. 

Is that still the most likely outcome? 

The gods will end them all. 

So would she have done, to win. Are they really all that different? These long years playing the villain, the shadow that lingers on the edge of civilization, the hunger in the night - why - 

It must be me! It must be me who kills the gods!

Why? Why?!

In thousands of years, not one other person has truly understood the goal, the necessity of it, the sheer importance - only I had the will and drive to execute the plan, it had to be me - 

This Starlight organization seems to treat the threat with the gravity it deserves - 

They are weak-hearted fools! They cannot do what must be done! Oh sure, they play the benevolent saviors, but they are as corrupt and useless as people always are - 

How does she know that? Starlight is more powerful, has more resources, and doesn't revere the gods. They successfully replicated silver eyes! In a few weeks, they managed a feat that she spent centuries trying to achieve.  Is it really so hard to believe they might succeed? And if nothing else matters - then why care how it happens, so long as humanity survives? Wasn't that always the goal?

Wasn't it...?

She may be closer than ever to accomplishing her goal. Why does this feel so much like defeat? 

Time passes. Salem eats, sleeps, wanders the dream; and for perhaps the first time in as long as she can remember, tries not to think.

She dreams of Grimm, and when she wakes, she is shocked to see pale human skin instead of living darkness. 

The hole that once held conviction yawns, empty and deep. She circles its edge like a shattered moon, whispering to herself in its shadow. 

Why imprison me here, in this pathetic land of...talking cats, saccharine therapists, and nothing useful whatsoever? What end does it serve? Why bother if no one in any of these gods-blasted simulated worlds is producing anything of value?

Am I going to spend the rest of eternity trapped in a prison made of candy? 

Does she want to? 

What does she want? Her overriding drive in life for nearly as long as she can remember was to kill the Brothers Grimm. Trapped in a world of massages and community kitchens, that is looking like a more and more remote impossibility than it ever was. She can barely remember ever wanting anything else, at least not in comparison. 

To see Ozma suffer.